


We Love to Learn

by SandrC



Series: Hey There Centaurs! [2]
Category: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)
Genre: ADHD Zirk Vervain, Infodumping, i am once again projecting on characters i like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:21:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27434962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandrC
Summary: Borosilicate glass is a type of glass with silica and boron trioxide as the main glass-forming constituents. Borosilicate glasses are known for having very low coefficients of thermal expansion (≈3 × 10−6 K−1 at 20 °C), making them more resistant to thermal shock than any other common glass. Such glass is subjected to less thermal stress and can withstand temperature differentials without fracturing of about 165 °C (329 °F). It is commonly used for the construction of reagent bottles and flasks.
Relationships: Fia Boginya & Zirk Vervain
Series: Hey There Centaurs! [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2196600
Comments: 14
Kudos: 43





	We Love to Learn

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I'm gonna write a fic about Zirk having ADHD like me! He's gonna infodump like me! It's gonna be validating!  
> My ADHD: bitch u though  
> Me: I WILL IT INTO EXISTENCE
> 
> Anyway, whaddup, it me, chaboi, back at it again with the Eldermourne fanfiction. Dunno what happened to the anon author fic but it was nice having company for a bit. I just think...Zirk has adhd and also has Opinions about borosilicate glass, a thing I have Opinions about. It's fate (and projection). Moreso now that I remember he is, technically, proficient in glassblowing.
> 
> Hope y'all like it tho.

The world doesn't make sense. This is a fact.

The world doesn't make sense and Zirk Vervain _wants_ it to, so he tries to figure it out. This, _of course_ , does not sit well with other people—who prefer the world to exist and for them to continue puttering about in blissful ignorance because, if you know how something works, you can be more acutely terrified when it _stops_ working that way—and they express their displeasure with Zirk in the most _personal_ way possible.

That is to say: Zirk Vervain knows the sounds of the phrase " _shut up_ " more intimately than any other person in existence. He also _refuses_ to do so.

It isn't for any particular reason that he continues to talk and learn and press and prod. No, Zirk isn't _trying_ to make people upset by asking " _why_ " all the time. He just likes _knowing_. If he _knows_ , he can be at ease. If he is at ease, he can sleep better when he does choose to sleep. (Of course, later years might identify what Zirk struggles with as " _anxiety_ " but, during his childhood, all it was was "an acute sense of dread that dogged him like a Church Grim or a Banshee, warning him of danger around every corner, even in a rounded hallway, which was _incredibly_ upsetting and bad for his quality of life".) Still, many people would prefer Zirk _stop_ , and tell him such.

When he lands the apprenticeship with Dr. Nebil, for a brief and _delightful_ moment, Zirk is certain that _this_ is how he finally makes sense of the world. With the knowledge of a doctor—okay, _mortician_ , but most doctoring was learned from corpses anyways and morticians get _the most_ corpses out of all medical professions—he would _finally_ be able to put to rest some of his more ingrained sources of dread. (Like girls in towns left behind, _screaming_ about their fathers, as snake oil salesmen and their unwitting accomplices flee the scene. As, yanno, a _nonspecific_ example.)

But like _everything else_ , it's simply questions that lead to answers that lead to questions that lead to answers and so on and so forth. A veritable ouroboros of knowing and not.

Still, there's much to be learned during his apprenticeship. Things such as the fact that certain chemicals dye hair in bright and lingering colors. If he brews mint and chicory, adding a bit of honey to the triple-distilled mixture, he can stay up longer and think more clearly. Certain chemicals if blended improperly will explode violently when heated and second degree burns are far worse than first and more painful than third.

(People never stop telling him to shut up. No one _really_ cares about what he knows; only that he can parrot back their knowledge to prove he was listening. His brain is a sieve for anything that isn't interesting. Time is a lie.)

When things go to shit—poor Dr. Nebil...he isn't certain _how_ the morgue is going to handle _without_ him considering Zirk is _barely_ competent but...he can fake a doctorate and yeah, _okay_ , he's going to miss him a whole bunch—Zirk forgets people don't like him talking. A combination of nerves and new people and a rush of "I _need_ these people to like me more than I need to breathe" drowns out the anxious part of his brain and he forgets.

"How in the fresh fuck does your, uh, _thing_ —" Henry gestures to his ear, mirroring where Zirk's focus is tucked "— _not_ snap when you chew on it like that? S'glass, isn't it?"

Zirk's face flushes a bit and he quickly checks to make sure it's still tucked there and not back in his mouth—Dr. Nebil isn't around anymore to remind him and he keeps forgetting to coat it in the bittering agent that discourages him from putting it in his mouth, so he has to be more vigilant about where it is now—but it's still behind his ear where he left it after the harrowing combat encounter. " _Well_ , Mister Henry," and he feels a wash of pride inflate inside him as Henry flushes and breaks eye contact at the honorific, "believe it or not: the glass my focus is made of is _actually_ nonstandard. It's a borosilicate rod generally used in chemistry and alchemy, so it has been stress-tested to make sure that the harsh conditions it would normally be used in won't result in slivers of glass in your tinctures or salves. And, to make things _even better_ ," he continues on, ears wiggling slightly as he gestures about to accent his speech, "borosilicate glass has a much higher thermal threshold so it actually can fluctuate between temperatures without losing structural integrity. While normal glass—the kind your local glassblower makes—would crack or fracture if you were to heat and then cool it very quickly—or vice versa—borosilicate glass _doesn't_ , which makes it good for handling chemicals and also cooking. Still, because it's a _relatively new_ creation—"

He cuts himself off, a flush of shame tearing through him. Henry is staring at him, brows furrowed in the way Zirk _knows_ means he doesn't know what the fuck is being said. Fia, quiet thus far, is also staring at him with her mouth pursed thin and her eyebrows pulled tight.

They didn't want to hear this. They didn't _care_. They probably _hated_ him. He just needed to _shut up._

His throat closed up and he had to school his hands to stillness, forcing a grin he perfected _years_ ago onto his face.

"Never mind all that, though," he says through choking shame, "it's _boring_ , really, and I'm sure you have better things to worry about than _glass_."

Why did he think _anyone_ cared? _He should know better_. No one has _ever_ cared about things like this before. No one would ever care about it like Zirk does. He should just keep quiet. Shouldn't let his guard down. All that's going to happen is that he's going to get hurt. Every time.

"No, _no_ ," Fia says, her voice clear and honest, " _please_ continue, Mister Zirk." Zirk stares at her, _confused_. Even under his scrutiny, her face is open and as easy to read as Bukvar. She is genuine and sincere. "This is _very_ interesting."

" _Really_?"

" _Yes_. I have never considered glass and how it is used in things like medicine and cooking. You say it is good for cookware, this bo-ro-sil-i-cate glass?"

Zirk nods, once, "Yes it, _uh_ , handles temperatures better. Like I was saying: in the same way it works out well for alchemists and chemists and medical professions, it also is useful in things like baking pans, measuring cups, and lanterns!"

" _Lanterns_?" Her eyebrows disappear into her bangs, eyes glittering. Something small and fragile in Zirk's chest settles down and a delightful warmth spreads through his limbs.

" _Mmhmm_. Because the glass is of good quality and can handle more thermal fluctuations, having lanterns and lamps made with this glass is actually beneficial. _Especially_ in places where it is cold and the lamps are made with actual candlelight and not something like sprites or small tinker's creations. It keeps the glass off the streets and means that craftsmen can make more with less products." Without realizing it, his focus is back in his mouth, but Fia says nothing as he gesticulates, head tilted in rapt attention.

"What makes _this_ glass different from standard glass? Aside from its ability to resist heat, what makes the bo-ro-si-li-cate glass unique? Would it benefit someone who makes potions?" She has a charcoal stick in her grip, one of her non-animated books in her hands, and is taking furious notes in a slanted shorthand, the loops and swoops and humps of her scribbling prettier than any picture.

He's never had anyone ask for him to continue.

Zirk starts to sniffle.

" _Oh_ , no _no_ ** _no_**! Do not _cry_!" Fia reaches a charcoal-smudged hand and cups the side of his face, brushing a strand of hair away from his ear. "I did not _mean_ to make you cry. I am sorry!"

"No, _no_ , it's not - you didn't do anything wrong I... _usually_ people just tell me to shut up so I'm a _little_ overwhelmed. Sorry." He smiles at her, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.

" _Ah_ ," she doesn't pull away, instead tucking the strand behind his ear and gently pressing her forehead to his. "Well it is their loss. You know _so_ much and we love to learn."

(Behind them both, realizing that this conversation isn't meant for them, Henry and Bukvar are making their way inside Fia's home. Henry is offhand advising Bukvar on how to better make a good flatbread, the animated spellbook hanging on to his every word, enrapt.)

Zirk sits in this space for a moment, letting the release of crying wash out the fear and shame of people not wanting to hear him out. It's...soothing. Almost like a dream, even.

He doesn't even notice when Fia sits down on the ground next to him, staring, until she speaks up. "There are better things to chew on than glass. Even good glass, the bor-o-si-li-cate type, can break. I think I know something you might like."

" _Oh_?" He studies her face. Sincere. Open. There's nothing in there that triggers the little monster in the back of his head that screams in the dark about _everyone_ wanting to hurt him.

She nods. "When my tusks came in it was painful. You give children things for teething, _yes_?" He nods. "Similar to that. There is a type of tree where the bark dulls pain. If you get small green sprigs of it and chew on them, your saliva mixes with the tincture of the bark and it spreads the relief. In addition, because it is green, chewing is a good motion. Feels nice. The sprig frays at the end and it is a nice texture."

"Is...it becomes more...fabric like? _Yes_?" She nods, smiling at him and the fluttering joy of doing good rips through him. " _Hm_...I may look into that. Would you be willing to help me find some? I _really_ should...Dr. Nebil would remind me to keep my focus out of my mouth _but_ …" he shrugs softly, letting out a soft huff of sadness, "you think I would learn after I knocked myself unconscious one time. Don't mix chemicals and then put some of the chemicals in your mouth. Even _accidentally_."

"I am...sorry about your mentor. _Truly_."

" _Everyone_ dies." He deflects.

" _Still_." She smiles and it is not pity, but understanding. "But _yes_ , I will help you find some, next time we are out and about. It is best to chew on them when they're fresh so I will show you how to identify the plant so that, when you have the chance, you can get you some for chewing."

"Thank you."

"As I have said before: we love to learn. Learning means we know more and, I am not certain about _you_ , Mister Zirk," Fia leans in, sotto voce, and waggles her eyebrows, "I _love_ knowing things."

"Oh _same_ ," he laughs and she laughs too and it feels like home.

And he feels heard for the first time in forever, because he's finally found someone who wants to understand as much as he does.

(In the background, Bukvar is screaming as Henry dully yells about how he needs to "stop flapping about, you're only making it _worse_!" There is a bright flash of heat and light and Henry just swears. Then, smoking—and not in the good way, but in the burnt food and _arson_ way—Henry pokes his head out and sheepishly calls out, " _Uh_ , I think we need help." Fia and Zirk, both used to fires of this sort, stand up, laughing, and go to help them out.)


End file.
